The Valley of Voices
by Vidumavi
Summary: How the fellowship kept busy in between the Council of Elrond and their departure for the land of shadow. Please read and review.
1. Serious Misgivings

For those of you who read the books, you undoubtedly know some of the things that occurred in this two-month period, in between Elrond's Council and the fellowship's departure south. We know that Aragorn went off, along with many scouts, to search for the whereabouts of the Black Riders, and other agents of the Enemy. But as for the other characters, I have used my rather unusual (and rather dangerous) imagination to sort of guess what they were up to. This story will definitely be more than one chapter, so reviews, including constructive criticism, are greatly appreciated, so as to keep me going. 

Also, if you find something that doesn't quite fit into the canon, I would be glad if you let me know. 

Disclaimer: I own NOTHING concerning the Lord of the Rings trilogy: no characters, no places, no ring. *Sigh*

Chapter 1: Serious Misgivings

It is quite well known in Middle Earth that halflings—or hobbits, as they like to call themselves—are not inclined to be adventurous. On the contrary, they are quite habitual; usually preferring picnics to holidays, planting to hunting, and fireside stories to long, factual books. Nothing out of the ordinary, like two-stories houses. Nothing dangerous, like chasing away wolves. And DEFINITELY nothing adventurous, like crossing the Brandywine, or wandering the outside world. But there were five certain hobbits from the Shire, five certain hobbits who summoned their courage, freed their curiosity, and left the security of their homes to be involved in something bigger. . . something dangerous. Needless to say, these five certain hobbits were MOST out of the ordinary.

And on this late-October morning, these five hobbits found themselves rather far from the Shire. . . in the peaceful quiet of the lush valley of Rivendell. The red and yellow leaves of autumn danced in the playfully silent breeze. The morning sun reflected it's white light against the swift river Bruinen, the movements and falls of which created the only sounds to be heard. Well, at least to someone who was standing outdoors.

For gathered in one of the smaller rooms of the Last Homely House, four of these hobbits of varying age and height were sitting together in deep conversation. And since they did not bother to keep their (rather loud) voices down, they were easily overheard by Gandalf, their wizard friend, as he passed by the door.

The Istari stopped in his tracks, for he hadn't thought the hobbits would be awake so early: they had a habit of sleeping until right before breakfast (convenient, eh?). Curious as to what they could possibly be so animatedly talking about, he decided to do some harmless eavesdropping. It did not last very long, however, for he soon perceived that he was the subject of their conversation.

"I don't suppose that Gandalf might ask him for us. . do you think?"

Gandalf instantly recognized the voice of Merry, one of the younger hobbits. Slightly amused, the Maia decided it was time to alert them to his presence in the doorway. He also decided to do abruptly, for it was rather comical to start the hobbits. . . especially when it was this early in the morning.

"Ask who, and of them what, Meriadoc?" 

Merry, having been caught by surprise (much like everyone else) began speaking far too quickly for Gandalf to really make out the unintelligible words, though he could detect guilt in Merry's voice, causing him to become rather suspicious. "Well, it's nothing, really, Gandalf, we just. . ." 

"We just wanted you," Pippin continued with a reproachful look at his cousin, "To ask Master Elrond if we, and by we I mean Merry and I, could accompany Frodo on this trip of his, we being his cousins and all." Merry nodded fervently. Frodo and Sam just rolled their eyes at Pippins sudden articulateness, which was the result of a few dozen rehearsals.

This hadn't been what Gandalf had been expecting to hear, that much was obvious. The hobbits watched as the wizard's expression changed from surprise to—for some reason unfathomable to the others—anger, as though a highly sensitive subject had been broached (and indeed it had).

"Now, Peregrin...," he snapped, his blue eyes a tempest, "I refuse to counsel Lord Elrond to let you go along when I, myself, am unsure of whom else to consider for such an important mission. And furthermore, it is folly for you to even wish to go along, when you have no idea of the road you will be taking, or the dangers you will face." 

Merry and Pippin looked rather startled and distraught by the wizard's harsh tone, and Gandalf was quick to notice. The wizard's face softened, and his anger faded away, leaving him looking more aged and weary than ever. And when he spoke, his voice was filled with dread and sadness, as though he knew something that the others did not. "Let the matter go for now, young hobbits. Yes, for now. But perhaps you will have a chance to leave with Frodo, for fate works in strange ways," he said softly.

And with that said, he left the room, lost in his own troubled thoughts.

"I think that went well. . ." Pippin said a just a tad too brightly.

The others groaned.

* * *

The hobbits were not the only ones with a rather formidable subject on their minds. Gathered in a much quieter room in the House of Elrond were the Elf-lord's three sons. Elladan and Elrohir were discussing some rather unfortunate information with their young foster brother, who appeared greatly distressed by the news. And so he was.

"What do you mean, 'multiplied'? After all our efforts, and what with the endless help from my northern kindred, the orc population should have dwindled, not increased!"

"Estel, we speak the truth, as unlikely and unwanted as it may be. Our worst fears have indeed been confirmed. They are massing together, all evil things. . . building an army, of sorts."

The young man sighed and turned away from his brothers to gaze out of the open window behind him. He looked out at the land that had been his home for so many years. . . fair Imladris. He grew greatly distressed at the mere thought of any evil penetrating the beautiful sanctuary. He would give his life to protect it. And such a thing was most feasible, if he did what Elrond suggested, and joined the Ring-bearer on his quest.

The light curtains fluttered slightly in the breeze, one of them caressing his cheek in a comforting manner that reminded him painfully of Arwen. Arwen, the one reason why he was so hesitant to heed his foster father's advice. He remembered, it was only two days earlier, though it seemed like an eternity, their walk in the Rivendell Gardens. *Oh, Arwen, would that I could remain here in Imladris, and leave the burden of the ring to Frodo alone. Would that this war was ended!* 

He was startled out of his thoughts by the somber, knowing voice of Elrohir.

"Aragorn- life is not always as we planned. You of all people should know that. But the shadow deepens, and the time has come where you must leave your doubts- and your hopes- behind you."

Aragorn looked back at his foster brothers, and there was a deep anguish in his light gray eyes.

The Dunadan sighed. "If only it were that easy, brother. If only."

* * *

"And be sure to suggest Moria, Gimli, for I would know how our cousin Balin fares."

Balin. The name echoed in the listening dwarf's mind, and unsurfaced hundreds of fears and doubts concerning his distant cousin. It had been years since Gimli's kin in Moria had sent any word or message to anyone, and it had troubled all of the dwarves greatly. They dared not enter the Mines, for fear of what they would find, and so they instead sought the advice of the last person they normally would turn to. . . Elrond. With a sigh Gimli responded:

"Aye, it will be done. But don't you think your advice is premature? Lord Elrond may not ask me to accompany the ring-bearer, and I have no mind to volunteer myself."

His father, Gloin, gave him a sharp look. They had been talking about the quest for some time in their chambers, and all of the dwarves present (save Gimli) seemed certain that Elrond would approach the son of Gloin and ask him to represent dwarves in the journey to the land of shadow, where they would begin a hopeless attempt to destroy the One Ring.

Gimli stopped his trail of thought, for he suddenly realized that his father was speaking to him yet again.

". . . and besides, you are the only dwarf young enough and fit enough to go on such a long and precarious mission. Who else might Elrond choose? For he has made it clear to us that at least one dwarf will accompany the ring-bearer."

Gimli sighed. He knew his father to be right. And he was perfectly willing to go, under one condition. . . "There aren't going to be any _elves_ on this mission, will there?" And at the word 'elves' there was open disgust and contempt in his voice, a result of being raised by the race of dwarves. 

His father blinked. "I never thought of that. I don't think that there will be, for I have heard naught of such a thing. But do not be hindered if there is an elf, for he will be of little consequence, and will probably depart from the mission as soon as it becomes too toilsome for his frail body. But let us talk no more of the matter, for I suspect it is nearly time to eat." And together, they went down to breakfast.

* * *

That evening the sky was clear; no clouds would prevent the bright moon and many stars from being seen by all once the sun went down. There were many bright lights beginning to appear in some of the windows and porches as the sunlight faded, and laughter and singing could be faintly heard from the Fire Room. But on this night, the Lord of Imladris was not taking part in the merry-making.

Lord Elrond sat in his study, well aware that he was missing dinner. But he didn't feel like eating, for he was planning something of the utmost importance. Something that could very well determine the outcome of Frodo's quest, because it was a way to limit the evil that the young hobbit would encounter. And he had to make a decision before sundown, or it might be too late.

He needed to send out scouts. . . yes, some of his best. And they would travel Middle Earth for the next month or so, searching for signs of agents of the Enemy. But the mountains and all the eastern lands were becoming highly dangerous. He could not risk endangering too many of his warriors, so only a select number would be sent out. But where would they look? And what exactly would they look for? These questions blocked his mind from any answers. And he was losing time. 

The Black Riders had all been washed away at the Ford less than a week ago. They were not dead; Elrond was wise enough to know it took more than a flood to kill the Nazgul. But had any of the horses survived? If even one survived, then it would be only a matter of days before Sauron was informed of the Ring's whereabouts. And in such a case, they might as well forget about taking the Ring to Mount Doom. Their one advantage was the element of surprise. And if they didn't have at least that. . . all would be lost.

Elrond rubbed his forehead. The Ringwraiths would be hard to find. . . who knew what form they now had taken. But all the same they would have to try. He would probably send Aragorn and a companion to search in Mirkwood, and Dol Guldur. Aragorn would doubtless take Legolas with him, for the elf hailed from Mirkwood and thus would know the forest well. And besides, the two had long been friends, having met shortly after Aragorn came of age, and they trusted each other with their lives.

He would send other scouts to search for clues along the banks of the Bruinen, for the Black Riders had been swept down that river, out of sight. And the next day, he would speak to Mithrandir about finding some way to discover what became of their horses, for surely their bodies would still be on the river bottom. But finding them would be difficult. It was far too cold for any elves to swim in the chilly waters of the Bruinen for too long a time, and besides, the river was extremely deep in some parts.

Other warriors would be sent down to far Ithilien, to see if they could find any signs of foul play among the nearly deserted villages. For that would be a clear signal that Sauron had spies that would hinder Frodo's passage south. 

"I am almost forgetting Isengard. But it would be folly to send scouts to spy on Saruman. He would expect us to do such a thing. We will simply leave him alone for now, until an opportunity arises. He can make the first move," Elrond thought bitterly. He had been enraged, and deeply distressed, when he had learned of Saruman's treachery. He had scolded himself for not expecting something sooner.

The Elf-lord sighed. The sun was low in the sky. He needed to speak with his scouts, so that they could be well on their way. "I wish I had never lived to see such trying times. Why must the elves be bound so to Middle-earth?"

* * *

Meanwhile. . .

Legolas wandered aimlessly along the paths of Rivendell. He had so much to think about, and he wished to get it done before he returned home the next morning. Much as he desired to stay in the fair valley of Imladris, he had only come to deliver a message. And as he had already delivered it at Elrond's council (to the alarm of many), he had a duty to return to his home. But he could not assuage the feeling of guilt that racked his mind. 

He had been one of the guards who were watching Gollum on that fateful day, when the huge army of orcs had attacked his homeland. The six guards had been taken by surprise, and Legolas had been the only one to survive. One of his good friends had been among them, and he was deeply pained by the loss. Regardless of this, he had fought bravely, but they had been many and fierce. So Legolas had ran ahead of them, to warn his father's realm of the coming disaster. And as a result, Gollum had escaped. But he also had to reveal to his fellow wood-elves of the deaths that had occurred. And that was yet another reason for why the young prince was filled with guilt; it had been his idea in the first place that Gollum be kept in Mirkwood. And now his friend, along with four other warriors, had paid dearly for it.

"Well," he thought dismally, "If I had stayed, they would have killed me like my companions. And if they had killed me, Gollum would have escaped anyway, so I suppose it was best that I escaped with my life."

The sound of approaching footsteps startled him out of his thoughts. He turned to see a man approaching; a man that he recognized from the council. He had not yet spoken to him, but the young man, who hailed from Gondor, had greatly interested him. Perhaps now they could get better acquainted, and Legolas could get rid of some of his curiosity.

* * *

Boromir was thinking along the same lines as Legolas as he approached where the elf was leaning against a tall oak. The elf hailed from Mirkwood, and it was a well-known fact that Wood-elves had very few dealings with men, or any races other than their own Elvish kindred. But the night before, at dinner, he had seen the elf have a long conversation with Aragorn, who was not only a man, but Isildur's heir himself.

He walked up to where the elf was standing, and Boromir was quite unnerved to be under the knowing gaze of the pale, ageless creature. He knew not of how elves greeted each other, whether they stated their lineage. . . no, that was only for introductions. . . perhaps they used their name and their land. Or, was it possible that the elf did not wish to be disturbed? That, he, Boromir, would be pleasing the elf by just walking past and leaving him to his own thoughts? That was doubtful. He had reached where the elf was standing, his thinking time was up. He said the first thing that came into his head.

"Greetings, Legolas of Mirkwood."

The Elf peered closely at him for a moment, and then quietly responded in the same proper fashion.

"Good Evening, Boromir of Minas Tirith."

An awkward silence followed. Well, at least it was awkward for Boromir, who had not seen an elf before he had come to Imladris, and was still rather afraid of them. Fortunately, Legolas, who sensed the man's discomfort, broke the silence.

"Tell me, Boromir, how the White City fares."

At hearing such words about his home, Boromir was both surprised and pleased. He didn't think the elf knew, or cared, about Gondor or Minas Tirith or anything concerning the world of men. He fervently told the elf all about how the city had fared in recent years, and about his mishaps with the armies of Mordor during the frequent orc attacks. And he was very happy indeed when he saw that the elf seemed truly interested. His earlier fears had been needless.

Then they spoke of other things, including how odd but pleasant the hobbits were, how beautiful the valley was, and also about some of the things that were said in the council. They talked for a good hour, and Boromir's doubts concerning the Elvish race began to fade. At least enough for him to ask the elf a question that he had been most curious about. 

"You seem well-acquainted with Lord Elrond's foster son," he said slowly. "How long have you known him for?"

Legolas was only mildly surprised by such a question. Most of his kindred couldn't even understand how he could have bonded with someone of the race of Man. Still, Legolas hadn't expected Boromir to have noticed his close friendship with Aragorn.

"I have known him for many long years, now. I met him out in the wilderness, when he was only in his twenties. We were both in need of companionship, and overtime we learned to trust each other. And by the time our journey ended, we were almost inseparable. Much to the dismay of my kindred, of course," Legolas added with a wry smile. He glanced up at the quickly darkening sky. "Well, Boromir, the sun has nearly set, and I must awaken tomorrow at dawn, for I am to return to my home in Mirkwood. I take my leave, for now- but I think that our paths might cross again. Farewell!"

And with that he was off down the trail.

* * *

Legolas had not even reached his chambers when Aragorn intercepted him. His voice was filled with anxiety, and it was obvious to the elf that he has something to ask. . . or to reveal. 

"Legolas! There you are! A word, if you will?" And without waiting for a response from his Elven friend he pulled Legolas into an empty room, and closed the door.

Legolas frowned. "What is it? Has something come up?"

"Well, yes- and no," Aragorn looked up at his friend, and decided to be frank, better than to keep the elf in his suspense. He knew very well that Legolas was not very patient, as Aragorn had once learned the hard way. "Elrond has asked me to search the enormity of Mirkwood for some signs of the Nazgul. None of them are accounted for as of yet, ever since the incident at the Ford."

Legolas knew immediately what this was about. "And you want me to go with you?"

"I thought you would have been eager to go. . ."

The elf laughed. "I am, Aragorn, only you need not have asked, for I am departing tomorrow for Mirkwood anyway. I live there, you know. . ."

The man grinned. "Right. . . Well, I suggest you go and prepare. But first, one more thing. . ." The man sighed. "I'm going."

Legolas gave him a questioning look, and the Ranger clarified.

"To Mordor. With the halfling. It is my duty- being Isildur's only living heir. I must finish what my forefather began so long ago." Aragorn was silent for a moment, as though contemplating what next to say. "I am bound to his fate," he ended bitterly, looking away. Legolas knew how much Aragorn hated his bloodline. It was for such a reason that the man always used an alias, regardless of where he was. Legolas also knew not to approach him on the matter, for because of his shame the Dunadan would refuse to hear it. 

Legolas nodded sadly, then turned to go to his own chambers without another word. 

* * *

The hobbits did not go to bed so early.

Instead, they spent a few hours of the night talking and laughing and singing with the elves in the Hall of Fire. Along with a good many others, three of the elves they spent much of their time talking to were the twin sons of Elrond, as well as the Lady Arwen. 

The twins were very good company, for they had traveled far and wide, and told the hobbits much of their adventures in the south, and of their travels with the Rangers of the North. And what's more, both had a good sense of humor, and were interested to hear in turn all about the hobbits' meeting with Tom Bombadil, and all about their stealing from Farmer Maggot (a surprisingly large fraction of this tale concerned only Merry and Pippin). But most of all, they asked the hobbits dozens of questions about the shire, especially the controversial fact of whether or not hobbits lived in holes.

"It's true! It's true!" Merry exclaimed, delighted.

"We've always preferred living in holes," Frodo cheerfully.

"Ai," Sam continued. "It's better than living high in trees, or deep within caves."

"Or on cliff-ledges," Pippin muttered, with a sideways glance out the window nearest him.

Arwen, on the other hand, was much more placid than her older brothers. While she smiled warmly at the hobbits, and spoke politely to them, she seemed more wise and serious than her brethren. Perhaps, they thought, this was simply because she was so quiet and patient. But the real reason, which was unknown to the hobbits, was because she was troubled. . . for she was well aware of the departures that would soon take place, and the ranger that would be departing with them.

* * *

Very early the next morning, as the sun was just rising above the majestic walls of the fair valley, Legolas and Aragorn prepared their horses for the weeklong ride to Mirkwood. They arranged their things in silence, Aragorn busy adjusting his saddle and Legolas, who rode bareback, packing the last few essentials into his riding pack. There were very few elves there to see them off, most of them friends of the other scouts who were leaving. Arwen was not among them, much to Aragorn's disappointment.

Legolas smirked at his mortal friend, knowing very well what Aragorn was thinking. "Don't mope so, Aragorn, and look! She watches!" And he pointed up at one of the large windows that overlooked the gates.

Sure enough, when Aragorn looked up, the object of his affection was smiling down at him. Aragorn smiled briefly at her, then he and Legolas mounted their horses and rode away from Rivendell.

* * *

To be continued. . . (dun dun dun!)

Chapter Two will be posted soon. . . (soon being a relative term, right? *gulps*)

Please review! Constructive criticism is welcome! Please, tell me how you like it (or don't like it), I want to know!


	2. So Far From Home

Sorry for the delay! SORRY! So sorry! I really am! But I have been so busy with work and school-and my stupidity for writing two stories at the same time-that I had to postpone writing this chapter until the winter holidays. And also until after I saw _The Two Towers _at least twice.  
  
I tried to make up for the delayed update with a nice, long chapter, which I hope you will like. The next installment is almost complete, I have been working on both at the same time (mainly because much of the content of this chapter I decided to hold off until the next one.) Anyway, Chapter 3 will be up VERY soon, I promise!   
  
*(Looks guiltily at gemstone) I appreciate that last review, it really woke me up to how long I had put off with this chapter. I will NEVER abandon this story, I have been planning it for far too long! Sorry for the wait, but I am planning to finish Chapter 3 tomorrow on my day off.  
  
  
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Chapter 2: So Far From Home  
  
  
The afternoon sun was beginning its daily retreat to the horizon. Its sinking rays reflected off the Rivendell River and helped to warm the inner depths of the dale. The valley had grown cold as of late, with the frosty chill of the approaching winter, and such rare extremes of sunlight were greatly appreciated by the mortal guests of Imladris.   
  
Sam was not enjoying the mild autumn weather. He found himself in Frodo's bedroom, fussing over his lethargic master. It was a good hour after noon, and the hobbits hadn't eaten anything since lunch, which was definitely a bad sign when considering their usual eating habits. Though, they hadn't really eaten very much of their usual diet since Strider had brought them to Rivendell from Bree.   
  
"You look hungry, Mister Frodo. Maybe you should eat somethin'."  
  
"I'm fine, Sam. I'm just tired."  
  
"Well, you aught to be tired. You were up mighty late last night, with them elves in the Fire Room. You should be resting, you've a long trip ahead of you."  
  
"Sam, I'm not leaving for a month at the least. The scouts have barely even been gone a few hours." He was thinking of Aragorn-(was he really a king?!?)-and of all the new people he had met at the Council of Elrond. He didn't know why, but he was deeply alarmed by all of the information that had been disclosed. Of course, he had a right to be alarmed…but he felt odd about the escape of Gollum, and about the treachery of Saruman, as though he had expected it the whole time without really knowing. Bringing himself back to the present, he realized that Sam was speaking again.  
  
"It wouldn't hurt to save your strength. You'll be needing it, you know."  
  
"Yes, I know that, Sam. But so do you, and you seemed to have a good time last night. Don't you want to be spending your time in merriment, while we still can?"  
  
Sam sighed with resignation. "I suppose so."  
  
He finished unpacking. The midday sun was beginning to sink again from its mid-winter peak.  
  
Sam sat down next to his master. He could see the chain that held the ring, now hidden beneath the folds of Frodo's tunic.  
  
"Why are you doing this, Mr. Frodo? Why are you takin' it?"  
  
"Because I have to, Sam. For all of us."  
  
"But why not let Master Glorfindel take it? I bet he could handle it. Or Strider, even."   
  
"I don't know Sam. I don't know why any of this has happened. Not even Gandalf could answer that question. But it's too late to turn back now."  
  
Sam said nothing.  
  
"I'm sorry Sam."  
  
Sam looked up, surprised.  
  
Frodo continued sadly. "I wish we were still in the Shire, and that we didn't know anything about a Dark lord, or a Ring of Power, or Mordor, or anything like that. I wish everything was as it was."  
  
"Don't be sorry, Mister Frodo. It ain't your doing. Like you just said, not even Gandalf can explain it. I just don't understand it, is all."  
  
"I don't understand it either Sam. But I have to take the ring. It's for the best."  
  
"Then I'm coming with you."  
  
Frodo grinned. "I know, Sam. You told us at the council, remember?"  
  
"I know," Sam said defensively, blushing slightly. "But this time I mean it even more. I think I'm starting to grasp the concept of this whole 'Ring' thing, if you get my meaning. At the council I was still a bit confused about it all, and, well, I still am. But I don't think I'd like to be anywhere but here with you, Frodo. And I can't leave you now that we've come this far."  
  
Frodo smiled. "I'm glad you're coming with me, Sam. But," he frowned, and great distress borne of fear and pain marred his features, "please don't think wicked of me for saying so."  
  
"Why would I ever do that, Mister Frodo?"  
  
"Because, Sam. You don't know where this road will lead you. Neither does Gandalf, and neither do I. But I know that by the end, the world will have changed a great deal, for the better…or for the worse. In either case, it'll frighten you once we get there. I wish you would go back to the Shire, but in my heart I am glad I have your company, despite all you'll face."  
  
Sam looked back at Frodo skeptically. "Go back to the Shire? Then what'll I tell them Shire-folk? They'll ask me about you, and what shall I say? 'Oh, Mr. Frodo's gone off on some terrible quest to destroy a Ring of Power, and he's going to try an' kill the Dark Lord before he puts an end to us.' No, I don't think I should tell them that, Frodo. It'd scare them, if they even believed me. But I don't think I could lie, either. So, I guess I'm stuck here with you, Mr. Frodo, whether I like it or not."   
  
Frodo said nothing. Sam sighed.  
  
"And I'll never think wicked of you, Mr. Frodo. Even if you didn't make it to Mordor, and Sauron got his ring back, and all was lost."-here Frodo paled slightly, and Sam hastily moved on-"I would just remember how brave you were, stepping up to all of them elf-lords and volunteering to take the Ring to the fires of Mount Doom."   
  
Frodo sighed. His eyes were dark and sad. "What has happened to that young, happy hobbit," Sam wondered. "Will he ever come back?"  
  
Frodo finally spoke. "I don't very much feel like talking about those things, Sam, but thanks. I don't think I would get far without you."   
  
Sam looked down at the hands he was twisting nervously on his lap.   
  
"I still remember your exact words, Frodo, when you decided to be the Ring-bearer. 'I will take it.' I never heard finer words. A real hero you'll be, Mister Frodo- I can see it. You'll come back to the Shire, all victorious, and you'll move back into Bag-end, and you'll never have to worry about nothin' again."  
  
Frodo's eyes turned even more serious. "Do you really think it possible, Sam? Do you really think that I, a hobbit who grew up ignorant of the existence of evil, could actually bring about its demise?"  
  
Sam looked up, startled.  
  
"O' course I do. 'Us hobbits should never be underestimated', the Gaffer used to say. And he was right, even though he was drunk on ale at the time. I think you can do it, Mr. Frodo. And so does Lord Elrond. Remember what he said? 'I think this task was appointed to you', or something like that. Don't that cheer you up? You can do this, Mister Frodo. But promise me you'll let me come with you through thick and thin, no matter what."  
  
Frodo laughed softly at the odd request, but his eyes were sad. "I can't make you follow me all the way to Mordor, Sam. Only you could do that, if you had a mind to. And I wouldn't want you to do anything you'd regret. Because then I wouldn't be able to forgive myself, or you, for that matter."  
  
"Oh, it's too late to be worried about that, Mister Frodo. I definitely regret ever letting you leave the Shire. Besides, I already made a promise to Gandalf that I wouldn't leave you. My case is hopeless now."  
  
Frodo laughed again, only this laugh was brighter, merrier, and full of hope. "And to think, Samwise Gamgee, that only two days ago you were packing your bags to go back home."  
  
"Now, come on, Mister Frodo. You didn't have to bring that up. I'm homesick enough as it is."   
  
"So am I, Sam. But at least we have each other for company, and Merry and Pippin, too."  
  
Sam nodded. "And Strider as well."  
  
"So, Sam, are you finally starting to trust him?"  
  
"I think so Mister Frodo," Sam replied, smiling softly.  
  
"Me too, Sam. I suppose he's not as foul as we thought. And he's got his friendship with Gandalf going for him."  
  
Sam grinned. He loved seeing his master in such good moods. It couldn't be certain how much longer they could share such moments together.  
  
* * *  
  
Merry and Pippin sat in a large room with Gandalf, Boromir, and the dwarves who had come from Erebor. They had been asked to attend a meeting with Lord Elrond, who had yet to arrive.  
  
"What's this all about, Gandalf?" Merry asked nervously.  
  
The wizard leaned over slightly so the hobbit could hear him. "Lord Elrond has another thing to ask of us," the maia said softly, "and you were just telling me how you wanted to be 'more involved'. So here you are, at your own little council."   
  
"What is it now?" Pippin asked nervously. "Last time people were summoned here, Frodo got stuck with going to Mordor."  
  
Gandalf smiled, but said nothing. Elrond had entered the room.   
  
The hobbits had seen little of the Elven lord. At the dinners that had gone to with Frodo, they were always seated at a side table, while Frodo was seated  
  
Looking around the room at the gathered company, he spoke. "I have summoned you hither on no ill news, I simply have a favor to ask, but one of great importance."  
  
No one spoke. The Elf-lord continued.  
  
"The incident at the Ford, as you all know, did not kill the Nazgul. They have fled, whether on horse or in shapeless form."   
  
Again, no one spoke.  
  
"I wish to find out their means of escape. We must find out if their horses were killed, and also if any survived. We must know how quickly they will return to Barad-dur. It will affect the route that the Ring-bearer shall take."  
  
"How exactly are we supposed to do that?" one of the dwarves grunted.  
  
"An excellent question, Master Gloìn. I would like volunteers to construct a dam that will temporarily stop the river, allowing you to search it for signs of the ringwraiths."  
  
"I shall help build it," Boromir said swiftly. While Elrond spoke, an odd look had come over the man's face, as though he was filled with doubt. But his voice was stern, showing no sign of hesitation.  
  
The hobbits had been quite curious about Boromir. Their own knowledge of men was quite limited, having been truly acquainted only with Butterbur and Strider, but this man of Minas Tirith seemed strangely different. He was fair of face, though his eyes were dark and sad. He appeared younger than Aragorn, but the hobbits expected that he had seen the winters of a great many years. What's more, his dignified stature and bearing betrayed his nobility. On the whole, Merry and Pippin generally liked him.  
  
The dwarves soon volunteered as well. "We will join you, man of the South, for we are used to such labors," one said. Pippin had met this dwarf at dinner two nights since. The young hobbit had been interested in meeting him, as he was the son of Gloìn, who was in the great company of Thorin Oakenshield. Gimli he was called, and his great red beard ended in a thick braid.   
  
The dwarf saw him and grinned, and his group turned and quit the room.   
  
The wizard smiled.  
  
"Good. That being settled, I suggest you two go down and eat lunch. You didn't have time for it earlier," he said, looking at the two hobbits.  
  
Merry nodded fervently. But Pippin said nothing, still looking flustered.  
  
Elrond walked to the door, and then turned. "Goodbye, Master Periannath. I will see you at dinner."  
  
The door closed. Gandalf turned to the halflings. "Please, by Iluvatar, do not ask Master Elrond if you can join the quest tonight at dinner. I know you mean well, but that would not be the way to gain his favor."  
  
Pippin looked surprised, but Merry frowned. "Gandalf, how come Sam gets to go, just because he got caught eavesdropping? We've done plenty of that."  
  
"Yes," Pippin added. "And he was working for us, anyway."  
  
Gandalf sighed. "I suppose that if we left you behind you would feel wronged and ashamed. But I would rather you be safe in Rivendell and angry, than if you came and were content for a brief time before the darkness settled itself in."  
  
"We know that we don't stand a chance out there," Merry said quietly. "But Frodo's our friend, just like Sam is, and we don't want to be left behind when we could be of use to either of them."  
  
"And if you're with us, what could possibly go wrong?"  
  
"Much indeed could go wrong, Peregrin! There are many powerful forces in this world, and some are greater than I am. And most I have no control over."  
  
"Wait," Merry said suddenly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I thought you hadn't decided that you were going."  
  
Gandalf blinked, and then the realization settled in his keen, bright eyes. He sighed.  
  
"Through all my long years, I have kept many great secrets, and have still disclosed them to no one. But somehow, the two of you always manage to pry little bits of important information out of me."  
  
Pippin grinned. "It takes a Took to do it."  
  
"And a Brandybuck as well, Pip!"  
  
The wizard smiled. "I suppose I could talk to Elrond, if you promise not to tell pester me with all your meddlesome questions."  
  
A bell chimed. A meal was being served. The hobbits quit the room with a fervent "Thanks" and a few mischievous grins in each other's directions.  
  
Gandalf sighed. They really didn't understand what a dark road they were trying so hard to reach.  
  
* * *  
  
That night, Boromir once again found himself wandering the paths through the many gardens of Rivendell. A few yards behind him walked a troop of dwarves, all muttering to themselves. Listening to their gruff voices, Boromir could discern only a few phrases, such as "tainted land" and "disfigured trees".  
  
The dwarves were another strange race that he didn't understand. He knew that the elves were far too intimidating for his comfort, but the dwarves…they were perplexing to Boromir. They had shown open hatred for the elves they had encountered, which Boromir didn't understand. And they even eyed the Men with suspicion. But they also seemed a bit xenophobic, as though they would be pleased if they never saw anyone save their own kin.   
  
He didn't know why, but he had been immensely relieved when Elrond had approached them on the subject of building a dam. He had come to Imladris to find the answers to his bizarre dreams, and he had done so. But he did not wish to leave Rivendell at this time. There was something about the place that brought him peace, even when he was thinking about the war that raged in his homeland. He also had an odd feeling that his work was not finished in this Elvish paradise.  
  
Yes, it truly was a paradise of sorts. He had always believed his father's realm to be a mighty land, the stone structures being magnificent to view. But this place was extraordinary. The valley walls were lined with beautiful buildings of many colors and sizes. The starlight reflected in the growing mist of the waterfalls. The soft sound of the rushing river and the song of birds in the mighty trees brought happiness to the hearts of all. Everything in the vale-the earth, the air, the water-seemed to have a voice all of its own.  
  
Waking from his reverie, he realized that the talking behind him had ceased. Turning, he saw the youngest of the dwarves peering out into the gloom of night that filled the dark canon. Having gained more confidence from his talk with the Mirkwood elf the night before, he did not need to gather his courage before approaching the dwarf.  
  
"We meet again, Gimli son of Gloìn. Good night to you."  
  
"Good night to you as well, son of Denethor. And a lovely night it is."  
  
"Do you really think so? I hadn't believed you to find Rivendell very appealing."  
  
The dwarf didn't answer that. "What think you of the hobbits? You've never seen the likes of them, I would wager."  
  
Boromir smiled. "I think they're charming."  
  
"Do you?" Gimli asked pleasantly. He was beginning to like the man's good humor.   
  
"Very much so. I wish that the people of Gondor could be in such high spirits."  
  
"And I the people of the Lonely Mountain! Long have we been ill at ease, with no word from our kindred in Moria. But I think that our lord Daìn is planning a party to go to the mines and see if they fare well, or if evil has befallen them." The dwarf shuddered.  
  
"How long have you gone without word?"  
  
"Many, many years it has been since they have sent their yearly report. They usually sent a messenger to us with news of their progress, and we are worried what detains them there, and prevents them from contacting us."  
  
The dwarf looked up at the man. "You said you came hither due only to strange dreams, eh? Does that mean you will be leaving soon?"  
  
Boromir shrugged. "I have not yet made immediate plans to leave Rivendell, but I hope to put off my departure for as long as I am able. What of yourself, Master Dwarf? Why has your party showed no sign of leaving?"  
  
Gimli sighed. "They are insisting we wait to hear the outcome of this ring business."  
  
The man smiled. I think I must retire, Master Gimli, for we Men cannot boast the persistence of dwarves.  
  
The dwarf was pleased by the compliment. "I will walk with you. I must join my father in our chambers." They crossed the bridge together, and went separate ways up flights of steps to their own chambers.   
  
* * *  
  
"Mirkwood. Not a very encouraging name, is it."  
  
The ranger gazed warily at the dark forest that loomed ahead of them.  
  
"Actually, it's beginning to grow on me. I think I prefer that name to Greenwood."  
  
"Do you?"  
  
"Yes," Legolas replied. Seeing the odd look the ranger was giving him, he added, "At least it's better than Gondor. 'Land of Stone'. Even dwarves are more original, and they would be inclined to choose a name like that. Such as Moria. 'Black pit'. Or Khazad-dum. 'Dwarf-home'."  
  
"Well, at least 'Gondor' has that nice elvish tone to it."  
  
Legolas said nothing, but smiled softly to himself. They entered under the shadowy eaves of the forest.   
  
The thick canopy of braches and leaves that roofed the path immediately blocked the sun. As they continued into the forest a few more yards, all went completely black. It took Aragorn a few moments to fully adjust his eyes to the darkness.   
  
"Hmm. It's not as dark as usual today," Legolas said all-too-pleasantly.  
  
Aragorn mock-glared at the elf. The man had never enjoyed his visits to Mirkwood, all of them being rather…disagreeable. Each time, the elves had been barely tolerant of their mortal guest, and the infamous spiders even less so. He didn't have any fond memories of when he had allowed Legolas to talk him into going "spider-hunting", as the elf had so lightly put it. Needless to say, chaos ensued, and Aragorn had returned to Rivendell with the marks of a few nasty bites. He wondered if this visit would be any better.  
  
"Do you think your father will lend us aid?" the ranger asked tentatively.  
  
"Yes," Legolas replied shortly.  
  
"And what makes you so confident, young prince of Mirkwood?"  
  
Legolas smiled faintly at the jibe. "You're in a fine mood today. Usually you just ride in silence, staring straight ahead or looking around suspiciously, and occasionally you dismount and 'listen to the earth'. You would think that through these troublesome times you would have become even more serious, but no. I'm stuck with the immature man who will one day become the king of 'Stone-land'.   
  
Aragorn grinned. "I listen to the earth? You listen to trees just as often. But don't change the subject. You still haven't answered my question."   
  
"My father? He'll want to get rid of you as soon as possible, and the only way to do that is if he sent us out investigating." The elf turned to look at the ranger. "That way, you won't have to stay in the palace, either."  
  
"Well, that's always a good thing," the ranger muttered sarcastically. But the elf was right. The Wood-elves always made him uncomfortable. Most of them had not seen a man since the Last Alliance before Aragorn showed up, and so they had a tendency to…stare. And they didn't speak too civilly, either. Of course, he had originally gotten along rather well with them, but then they discovered his lineage, and things had gone downhill from there.   
  
They rode on a while longer in silence.  
  
"Legolas," Aragorn began finally.  
  
"I don't think that any spiders would be this close to the borders, Aragorn."  
  
"No, it's not that," the man snapped, glaring at the elf. "I think you should consider joining the ringbearer."  
  
"Don't be ridiculous."  
  
Aragorn smiled sadly. "You know I was being serious, Legolas. We could definitely use the bow and arrows of so fine an archer."  
  
Legolas said nothing. Aragorn continued.  
  
"You always speak openly to me of my scattered people, and of their lost dignity and pride. I admit that I never rose to the occasion when they were in need of aid, but that is why I am going now. I am stepping up to the opportunity of making a name for myself in the race of Men. I am known among the elves as the King of Gondor, but my own people have no faith in me, let alone themselves."  
  
"What is your point, Aragorn?" It was more of a bland statement than a question.  
  
The man scowled. "Mirkwood has been overrun with darkness for centuries. You speak to me of my duties as king, now what of your duties as prince? My people need help, that is true, but so do yours."  
  
Legolas sighed. "I don't want to go, Aragorn. And even if I did, Lord Elrond would never ask me to…I am certain he would have Glorfindel go, or another of his Elf-lords. They have more knowledge in these matters than I, and Glorfindel fought in the Last Alliance. Who else could offer such valuable experience? I hadn't even been born yet when he was already a distinguished bearer of arms."  
  
"Maybe it is more than experience that Elrond is looking for. My father has more faith in you than you realize. All of us do. You just need a little more confidence in your own abilities, and more trust in your own strengths."  
  
Legolas said nothing. They rode on in silence, their happy mood ruined by the rising darkness.

  
  
  
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That's all for now. But like I said, the Chapter 3 will be up in a day or two, in compensation for my tardy update! The next chapter (which is turning out to be quite lengthy) will feature Arwen, and Thranduil enters the story, along with much more Gimli.   
  
Please review! I want to know what you think of this story so far, so feel free to be brutally honest, as long as you're nice. As always, constructive criticism is welcome.   
  
Namárië!  



	3. We Have a Plan

A/N: I told you this chapter would be up quickly. Unfortunately, it lacks Gandalf, but I promise he'll be back next time. The hobbits seemed to have forgotten about him. (For future reference, the four reincarnated hobbits are my muses.)  
  
MOVING ON... I must warn you about my feeble attempt to use proper Elvish (shudders). If you see any inconsistencies, etc, please let me know, and I'll try (try being the key word) to correct it.   
  
_________________________________________________________________________  
  
  
Chapter 3: We Have a Plan  
  
  
  
"What are you doing, Merry?"  
  
"I told you, Pippin, I'm looking at maps."  
  
Pippin looked with bemusement at the clutter of papers that littered the floor of Merry's chamber. Back at the Shire, he had never even imagined seeing his cousin doing something so ambitious.  
  
"But...why?"  
  
"I want to make a good impression on Gandalf. If he's sees us getting involved in this Mount Doom business, he'll talk to Lord Elrond about lettin' us go off with Frodo."  
  
"Oh!" Pippin sat next to Merry on the floor. "So, what are you looking at maps of?"  
  
"I'm not so sure yet. Everything's in Elvish."  
  
"Maybe you should get Frodo to help, then. He could probably understand this stuff."  
  
"I can't do that!"  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because..." Merry hesitated. "I don't want to be a bother! He's havin' fun with the elves!"   
  
"Then why not ask Bilbo?"  
  
"He's probably busy."  
  
Pippin narrowed his eyes. "Oh...I see, you want to do it by yourself to impress Gandalf, don't you."  
  
"Is there anything wrong with that?" Merry asked impatiently.  
  
"No, but you'll never be able to do it. I don't even understand these pictures."  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
The damming process would take a very long time. Boromir found this out when Elrond told him not to cut down any trees within the gates of Rivendell. The Elf-lord had bid them start immediately, and they had began early in the morning. It was now almost noon, and so far they had a small (as small as a pile of oak trees can be) collection of trunks gathered on a flat clearing near the top of the valley cliffs. They had chosen this location because of its convenient abundance in trees, and also because it led to one of the less vertical slopes.  
  
The party of dwarves that he was assisting was not pleasant company on that chilly autumn day. They were still peeved about the lack of elves helping them, all of whom would "never dare cut down a living tree".   
  
The annoyed dwarves were presently in front of him, attempting to cut down a huge oak that they would then have to haul down the valley wall…somehow. They had yet to decide how exactly they would do so. Gimli had earlier suggested using ropes, but had not given any ideas of how exactly they would use them.  
  
"Now!" a dwarf yelled, startling Boromir out of his thoughts.  
  
Boromir quickly ran to the other side of the tree, where he assisted the dwarves in leaning against the massive trunk, trying to direct the course of its fall. With a heavy thud, which served to shift the earth beneath their feet, the oak plummeted to the ground. Its branches shook wildly for a moment, and leaves from surrounding trees showered them with a rain of foliage.  
  
"Felled!" Glóin yelled happily. The dwarves gave a cheer, and then began hacking away at the enormous roots with something akin to madness. Boromir began to think it was probably a good thing that no elves were around to help at times like these.  
  
Next came the hard part. The group began pushing and shoving the tree trunk to the pile of others. The impact of the tree and left it sunk into the ground slightly, so they worked for some time to free it from the groove in the earth it has so inconveniently lodged itself into. Finally, it gave way, and they slowly but steadily rolled it towards the gathered tree trunks.   
  
"I think we've felled enough trees for today," Boromir said hopefully.  
  
Luckily, the dwarves agreed, and they began speaking about what would prove to be their greatest trial: how to get the trees down.  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
The man and elf continued through the dark Greenwood, which was a tiring process of cutting the stray, dead branches that had rotted and entwined themselves with other trees. Here and there, a stray ray of sunlight could be seen spilling through the thick canopy of foliage that formed a vaulted roof over the path. While Legolas could see fairly well in the darkness, the gloom made Aragorn ill at ease, reminding him of the countless trips he had made in places far more evil. While it was not nearly so dark as Moria, Mirkwood had good reason for being so named. Fortunately, as they drew nearer to the fair dwelling of the Wood-elves, sunlight became more abundant, spilling through open clearings and lighting the surrounding woods. Also, the thick sea of decaying brushwood was replaced with the welcoming sight of large, beautiful fir trees.  
  
"We are drawing close," Legolas said softly, glancing around at the trees he was so familiar with.  
  
"For that I am glad," Aragorn said, calming slightly. He felt more at ease in this part of the forest; it had the comfortable feeling that elves had once lived here, before moving northward to escape the growing shadow. But the aura of relief did not last long, and a horribly familiar shriek sounded in the distance.   
  
Spiders. Aragorn moaned in great displeasure, unsheathing his sword. "How many?"  
  
"I can't tell," Legolas said softly, readying an arrow to his bow, though not tightening his pull on the string. "Not until they come a little closer…"  
  
Aragorn could clearly see Legolas's face in the sun. He gave a mirthless grin. The sunshine gave them the advantage, for spiders were blind in light, seeing the best in complete darkness.   
  
"They are cautious," Legolas said suddenly. "And they do not make much noise in there movements. There must be about nine or ten." The elf sounded slightly relieved, though his voice was still tinted with the anxiety that any battle offers.   
  
Aragorn sighed. "I suppose it could be worse."  
  
The spiders appeared suddenly, stepping out of the shadowy wood. Almost instantly, one fell dead to the ground, killed by an elven arrow. The spiders drew back behind the trees, out of range. Dropping his sword, Aragorn brought out his own bow, as Legolas let loose another arrow. It killed a spider that had once again begun to come forward.  
  
Aragorn let loose an arrow, piercing one in the leg, though not killing it. Stringing another arrow to the bowstring, Aragorn prepared to for the fatal shot in the eye. The chance never came.  
  
With a sudden cry, the beasts leapt forward. Aragorn once again discarded his weapon, reaching down for his blade. Standing, he brought his sword down hard on the head of one of the large creatures. He turned, dodging the sting of another, and thrust his blade through its soft underbelly. He grimaced as the black blood gushed onto his uncovered hand. With a small effort, he pulled his sword out of the creature's gut and moved aside just as the mighty legs gave way and it fell to the ground.   
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Legolas slash the eye out of the last menacing spider and stab it in the broad muscles of its forearm. The last fiendish insect fell to the ground, dead. Legolas sighed and put away his knives.  
  
"Are you alright?" he asked Aragorn offhandedly.  
  
The man nodded, and they went to find their horses, who had conveniently fled the scene at the first sign of the coming spiders. As they stepped forward, Legolas stopped short, his body tensing.   
  
There was a sudden sound of twigs and branches snapping above their heads. Looking up, Aragorn saw about a dozen eyes peering down at him, coming ever closer. He swallowed hard, trying to compose himself. He was still He gripped his hilt tightly, when he realized how foreign the blade was to him. He cursed mentally, realizing that he didn't have Narsil.  
  
At the man's look of dismay, Legolas was quick to notice. "Where's your sword?" he hissed, returning his gaze to the looming spiders.   
  
"It's in Rivendell! Elrond had it presented to the elven-smiths, to be forged tomorrow fortnight!" It was the elf's turn to curse. Their situation had become slightly more extreme. "Aragorn is an expert swordsman," Legolas reassured himself. "He just fought off two spiders with that weapon, and was fine. He will fight well again with a borrowed blade."   
  
Their time was up. One by one, the spiders leapt down, encircling them, though they still remained a few meters distant, analyzing their prey. But suddenly, when all hope seemed to have failed them and they prepared to lunge forward with cries of war, a welcome shout was heard in the distance.  
  
"Hado!"   
  
  
* * *  
  
  
"I think this one's a forest."  
  
"Nah, Pippin, I'd say they're mountains."  
  
"No, look, it even has little trunks."  
  
"I think those are roads."  
  
"What are you doing?" a new voice asked them. The two younger hobbits looked up as Frodo entered the room.  
  
"Looking at maps," Pippin responded matter-of-factly, returning his gaze to the selected map that lay in front of them.  
  
Frodo looked rather interested. "I like maps," he said shortly. He sat down next to his cousins.  
  
"Good," Pippin said. "You can translate them for us."  
  
Frodo looked down at the Elvish script, his brow furrowed with thought. Bilbo had taught him about Elvish tongues and writings since he was a small boy. He had to admit to himself that he had gotten quite good at it, and Gildor had even told him he was a true Elvish scholar, which had made him very proud, both of himself and Bilbo.  
  
"Sorry," he said blandly. "I can't translate them."  
  
"Why not?" Merry demanded.   
  
"I don't know this form of Elvish. You should ask Gandalf."  
  
"I already tried that, Frodo," Pippin said bitterly, with a look of scorn at his other cousin. "Merry wouldn't have it."  
  
"Well," Frodo continued, "I'm sure we could figure it out by looking at the pictures. We just need to find the Misty Mountains, and work our way from there."   
  
"Okay," Merry said, brightening up slightly. "But which way's north?"  
  
The hobbits peered at the map with increased concentration.  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
Arwen sat alone on an empty terrace, lost in her own thoughts and musings as she absently watched the growing mist of the waterfalls. After a few moments of humming softly to herself, she heard familiar footsteps coming towards her, and did not look up when her brother's voice asked to join her.   
  
She smiled faintly in response, but still did not look up.  
  
"You're awfully quiet today, sister," Elrohir said quietly, sitting down beside her. Elladan sat on her other side. "What are you doing up here by yourself?"  
  
"I'm just thinking," she whispered absently.  
  
"About what?" Elladan asked, not willing to give up on making his sister talk. She had been depressed as of late, and they did not pretend to know why.  
  
"The scouts," she replied softly in the same distant tone.  
  
Elrohir smiled despite himself. "I know, sister. We miss him too."  
  
Arwen smiled at her brother's pleasant attitude towards her feelings for Aragorn. Her father had been less understanding. Her mind resting upon this last thought, her smile waned.  
  
Elladan frowned, seeing the sudden change on his younger sister's face. "Now what are you thinking of?"  
  
"Our father."  
  
"Oh," he replied lamely. He knew her well enough to know full well what she meant.   
  
"What happened when"-Elrohir swallowed hard-"you told him about your troth?" The twins had for a long time been wondering at that, for their father had spoken of naught concerning the subject. At least not to them.   
  
Arwen took a deep, shaky breath. She had been hoping he would never ask her that. But she felt that her beloved older brothers deserved an answer to any questions they had about her love for Estel.   
  
"I don't think I'd ever seen him so upset. But at first he was doubtful; he probably thought that I was just confused, that my feelings would subside as I got over the initial "infatuation", as he put it. But when he learned of my troth... he was truly grieved. I hated seeing him in such a state. Thus, as you know, I once again departed for Lórien."  
  
They sat in silence for a few moments. Arwen was reminiscing about the complete dialogue she had shared with her father. Somewhat behind her, the brothers glanced at each other a few times, wondering if it was the right time to tell their sister their real reason for seeking her out that afternoon. Evidently, they decided it was.  
  
"Arwen," Elladan said softly, his voice cheerless, "we have also chosen your path."  
  
She looked up, startled. "No! You can't do that, not for me, think of our father!'' she said aloud. Despair added, "Think of our mother!" yet the thought did not escape her lips.  
  
They smiled sadly. "We aren't doing it for you, Arwen, though that would still be reason enough. And we feel guilty enough about leaving father without you adding to the remorse."  
  
"Then why?" she cried, desperate. She loved her brothers dearly.   
  
"We trespassed long ago, by riding with the Rangers of the North. You are not within your rights to scorn our decision," he added wryly.  
  
She suppressed a sob. Elrohir cringed.  
  
"Don't cry, Arwen. It will be all right," he said softly, embracing her tightly. Elladan looked away. His shoulders were shaking slightly.  
  
In a desperate attempt to change the subject, Elladan said suddenly, "We are leaving in two days time to meet up with Estel in Mirkwood, Arwen." It served its purpose.  
  
"You are?" she asked shakily. "Will you do me a favor?"  
  
"Anything."   
  
"Will you tell him that which you told me?" Elrohir bit his lip.   
  
"Of course," Elladan whispered. The three lapsed into another thoughtful silence.   
  
  
* * *  
  
  
"Maybe we could roll them down," Gimli suggested. The group of dwarves (long with Boromir) stood in a semicircle facing the pile of giant tree trunks. Boromir was very tired, and not in the most patient of moods. He found himself feeling rather antagonistic towards the dwarves; but his resentment was borne of their tireless nature, rather than any actual hatred. He would never have normally skipped all meals for the day just to stand on a ledge hauling massive oak trees, and he was growing rather exhausted. But the others still appeared infuriatingly awake.   
  
"Roll them?" Boromir exclaimed. "And crush half the elves in Rivendell?"  
  
The dwarves glanced amongst themselves. The man had a point. Unfortunately, they deemed it as a point that supported Gimli's suggestion. Realizing this, Boromir rolled his eyes. But an idea had also struck him at Gimli's statement.  
  
"How about we create blockades in the hill, so if we DO roll them,"-here the dwarves looked up-"we can manage how quickly they fall, and how far."   
  
The dwarves looked thoughtful, as though considering whether the man had a good idea.  
  
"Very well," Glóin said finally. Seeing his comrade's doubtful faces, he added, "Let's at least attempt it."  
  
And so, a few hours later, they had constructed a few wooden barricades out of the discarded roots. These were being held up by thick ropes, which were tied to stakes in the ground. At the base of the hill was the largest blockade, meant for catching the trunks as they reached the foundation.  
  
"Please, may no one get hurt!" Boromir prayed desperately to the sky.  
  
Gimli gave him a shrewd look. "It was your idea," he said gruffly.  
  
Boromir sighed. He waved a disdainful hand at the dwarf; Gimli took that as a sign to release the first log. With a snap, his axe split the thick rope and the first barricade dropped to allow the logs to roll. Within seconds the logs hit the next blockade. Gimli was pleased with the successful drop. Boromir looked pale. The next dwarf proceeded Gimli in letting loose the logs again.   
  
The trees fell down the cliff face in this fashion for some time, until much later with only one trunk broken they finally reached the ground. Boromir let loose a deep sigh of relief. The dwarves cheered.  
  
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Gimli asked the man gleefully. "Now all we have to do is build the dam."   
  
"And somehow get the logs into the river."   
  
"We'll use more rope," the dwarf said shortly, making his way down the hillside to join his comrades.  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
"Merry," Frodo asked suddenly. "Where exactly did you get these maps?" The hobbits had made no progress, and dinnertime was drawing near. Presently, they thought they had located something that resembled the Misty Mountains, but they couldn't be sure. Merry and Pippin were now debating whether the mountains were supposed to curve eastward or westward.   
  
"I found them on a shelf in the council room."  
  
"WHAT?!?" Pippin and Frodo exclaimed, startled and thoroughly alarmed by the thought of Elrond noticing his maps were missing. Pippin exploded.  
  
"Merry, what a daft way of gaining Lord Elrond's favor, stealing his maps!"  
  
"He won't notice they're missing! Besides, how else am I going to get to come along?"   
  
"You could try asking," Frodo muttered, uncomfortable with the realization that they wished to accompany him. He sighed, looking up at his younger cousins. "You two aren't any better than Sam. I tried to convince him that Mordor was not the place he wanted to go, but now I see he's had influence from a not-so-surprising source."  
  
"What are you talking about? Sam's older than both of us! What makes you think it's not the other way around?" Pippin asked defensively.   
  
"That's hardly the point-"  
  
"Look, Frodo," Merry began impatiently, and despite his steady voice, his troubled eyes betrayed his sadness. "We're coming too, if Sam is." He smiled suddenly. "Personally, I'd like to see a nice gentlehobbit like yourself try and stop us!"   
  
Frodo sighed in resignation. Merry looked pleased. But Pippin's mind was elsewhere, and with a sudden look of rapidly increasing terror, he abruptly stood up.  
  
"I'm not gonna be found with Lord Elrond's stolen maps, Merry. You're on your own for this one!" he exclaimed, fleeing the room. Frodo quickly followed suit.   
  
"Sorry, Merry," he said swiftly, "but I'm off to find Sam for dinner."  
  
"Fine," Merry thought bitterly. "But one day this'll come in useful."  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
"Hado! Hado i philinn!"  
  
Legolas smiled as a dozen elven arrows whipped past his head, hitting the surprised spiders and killing them instantly. He heard more arrows hit the spiders behind him. He turned around, a wide smile of immense relief on his face.   
  
"Hennaid, Gilboron!" Legolas said. Aragorn recognized the elf, Gilboron, as being a captain of Mirkwood's archers.   
  
"Mae govannen, Legolas," the elf replied, smiling. He turned and saw Aragorn. His smile waned ever so slightly. "A Aragorn Arathornion, vedui."   
  
"Mae govannen," Aragorn replied weakly. He noticed that some of the elves in the back were exchanging puzzled (and somewhat riled) glances. He was startled when he noticed Gilboron was speaking to him.  
  
"What brings you here to Mirkwood, Elf-friend?"  
  
Legolas cut in. "We have something to ask of my father, Gilboron. I would see him as soon as possible."  
  
"I will take you there," the older-elf said, nodding briskly. He told the elf at his side to lead the others on. Aragorn watched in silence as the other elves continued southward.   
  
"Where are they going?" Legolas asked curiously.   
  
"We are still looking for Sméagol," he said ruefully. "We have searched among the orc-tracks for sign of him, but it appears that he was not taken prisoner. He must have escaped them during the confusion of battle."  
  
"If he even was taken prisoner," Aragorn thought bleakly.   
  
They reached Thranduil's halls within two hours. Aragorn couldn't help but admire the way the Wood-elf settlements of Mirkwood had maintained their otherworldly beauty despite the ever-growing shadow in the south of the forest.  
  
"I will speak to the King first," Legolas said to him. "Wait here. I'll not be long."  
  
  
* * *

  
  
"I think they're much better than the elves, and I have more patience with them than I do with most men. They are so much like children, and as such they appear to my eyes, but it is in the way they act that makes them seem so innocent and childlike. Wouldn't you say?"  
  
Gimli's father smiled at his described opinion of hobbits. "Ai, they are like children, but not so much as to make them naïve."  
  
Gimli smiled in turn. "You have known hobbits for much longer than I have, father. I remember when you first came back from your trip with Bilbo Baggins. The stories you told of them were wonderful, in the way that you described an entirely new and amusing race that we had long since forgotten."  
  
"And one that we hadn't," his father added darkly, recalling his time spent in Mirkwood's dungeons. "The elves proved to be just as obtuse and self-centered as usual on that trip."   
  
"But Bilbo got you safely out, and that is a good thing. It is quite interesting that the little hobbit outsmarted the Wood-elves, I say."  
  
"It is, and quite amusing, too!" They shared a laugh at that.  
  
"So," his father continued, "What do you think of that man of the south, Boromir? He seems to be a nice fellow."  
  
Gimli agreed. "Ai, and he's been helpful with the whole dam business as of yet."  
  
"That he has. Have you spoken much to him?"  
  
Gimli nodded. I spoke with him briefly last night, as a matter of fact. He seemed good-humored. I told him about our worries for Balin, and he told me about the distress of the people of Gondor."  
  
His father didn't respond for some time. Gimli looked out the open window. The stars were unusually bright.  
  
"What think you of that other man, the ranger?"  
  
"The heir of Isildur? I suppose he seemed cordial... but he was oddly familiar with the elves. He even speaks Elvish, a result of having been raised by Lord Elrond. There's one thing going against him," he added wryly.  
  
"Lord Elrond isn't that bad," Glóin said reluctantly, unexpectedly supporting the Elf-lord. "He of course has his faults, which comes with being of Elf-kind, but he's only half-elven after all. He has shown great hospitality to us, and I though loath I am to admit, he has done nothing to spoil my good opinion of him."   
  
Gimli shrugged. "Anyway, the man Aragorn seemed friendly enough, despite being an Elf-friend. I don't know how I'd live with myself if I was so named."  
  
"To be sure, neither do I! But he is a respectable man, being after all a Nùmenorean. Those men are few to be found these days."  
  
Gimli sighed, nodding in agreement with his father's words.  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
Merry had given up looking at maps. Without the help of his friends, it was hopeless (not that they would have been any help anyway.) From where he was sitting on his bed, he heard a knock on his door.  
  
"Come in," he called lazily. To his surprise, it was not Pippin who entered, but Bilbo.  
  
"I was wondering why you didn't come to dinner," the old hobbit explained, entering the room. "Have you taken ill? We wouldn't-" the hobbit stopped abruptly, seeing the large pile of maps on the floor of Merry's room.  
  
"I was looking at maps," Merry answered.  
  
Bilbo smiled slightly. "Yes, I surmised as much. But the question remains: Why? I don't suppose you think you'll have to go back to the Shire all by yourself, do you? I'm sure that when the time comes Strider will go with you. Or, if he's off at Mordor still, some elves will surely lead you there."  
  
"I wanted to go with Mordor with Frodo. I was trying to impress Gandalf by showing him that I could be of help, if I knew the way to Mordor. But it doesn't matter now, anyway," he added sadly. "I can't read them."  
  
Bilbo slowly bent down to pick up one of the maps. He peered closely at it, and then frowned.   
  
"Well, the reason you can't read them, my good young cousin, is because they're in Elvish!" Bilbo said smartly. Merry smiled despite himself.  
  
"However, I think I can fix that problem," the old hobbit continued. "Follow me."  
  
Bilbo led Merry to the large room he was currently residing in. Reaching into a drawer, he took out an old map that was slightly tinted with age.  
  
"I made this map," Bilbo said proudly, "and so it certainly isn't in Elvish. Here, you can borrow it, for now, but I'll need it back when you're done. I want to make a copy for my book."  
  
Merry gazed with unhidden wonder at the large map of Middle-Earth. He would have no difficulty reading it, that much was certain.   
  
He smiled at the old hobbit standing before him. "Thanks, Bilbo," he said.  
  
  
_________________________________________________________________________  
  
  
That's all, folks! Please review! I really hope that whole thing between Arwen and her brothers wasn't too, um, corny. I'm really uneasy about it. Speaking of which...  
  
*ATTENTION LOTR FANS: (If you're not a fan, I'm quite curious to know why you're reading this.) Anyway, now is your chance to flaunt your knowledge of the books. Does anyone happen to know the reason why Elladan and Elrohir chose to become mortal? I'd really like to know. I have read Unfinished Tales, and selected volumes from The History of Middle-earth series, but I haven't come across any explanation. If by any chance someone knows, could you tell me in a review? Or e-mail me? Thank you!

Elvish Translations:

__

Hado! Hado I philinn! -- Fire! Fire the arrows!

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Hennaid -- Thanks

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Mae govannen -- Well met

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A Aragorn Arathornion, vedui -- And Aragorn son of Arathorn, greetings

Happy New Year! See you in January!

  



End file.
